by J. S. Law
‘I’d say he would be a very difficult man to overpower,’ Felicity concluded.
‘He wasn’t overpowered,’ said John quickly. ‘He committed suicide.’
Felicity put the picture back and stood up. ‘Of course, I didn’t mean that that wasn’t the case.’
Dan watched the woman over her shoulder. Their eyes met and they held the look for a few seconds until Felicity broke off and walked out of the room and slowly down the stairs.
Felicity walked to the front door with them, lingering behind Dan by a few paces and stopping to look at the pictures on the walls and the few other ornaments that were dotted around on the dustless shelves.
‘I’m going to nip round the side and speak to that young copper,’ said John, as he reached the door.
‘I thought you quit?’ asked Dan.
He shrugged. ‘I got dropped off,’ he added, looking at her. ‘Blackett thought we could get up to speed in the car.’
He smiled at her and went outside.
She knew he would approach the young policeman, smile, make a joke and be friends with the man in the time it would take a normal person to make a formal introduction; that was John Granger.
‘Something isn’t right here, is it?’ said Felicity, as though she had been waiting for John to leave them.
Dan wasn’t sure if it was a direct question to her or if the woman was just thinking out loud.
‘No, it isn’t,’ she said.
‘Can you place a finger on it?’ Felicity asked.
Dan had a strange feeling that she was being tested.
The Felicity from upstairs with her infectious smile and gleaming eyes seemed to have gone for the moment. Dan felt that now she was meeting Doctor Green, Criminal Psychologist.
‘I can put my finger on quite a few things,’ she said slowly.
Dr Green tipped her head slightly, saying nothing and waiting for Dan to speak.
‘The house just seems too clean and ordered, especially considering that he was away and she was alone with two kids.’
‘Definitely,’ said Felicity with a smile. ‘You don’t have children, do you?’
Dan was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. ‘No,’ she flustered.
‘John does, though, I think,’ said Felicity, as though her mind were leaping about at tangents.
‘Yes, he does.’
‘Look at the walls,’ Felicity continued, changing tack again as though Dan hadn’t spoken. ‘They’re immaculate, no marks, no scuffs.’
Dan ran her hand across the paint at about waist height. ‘Could they have been cleaning and decorating with a view to putting it on the market perhaps?’ she asked.
Felicity pursed her lips. ‘Maybe. We did find some receipts for work done amongst the others for expensive shoes and fashion boutiques. Mrs Walker had had the hallway painted only a few weeks ago; we thought it could explain the pictures having been taken down in the study, but the painters say they were finished and that they were only contracted for the hallway and lounge. The Walkers also had a cleaner, three days a week.’
Dan nodded. ‘I thought that too.’
‘What? That they had a cleaner?’ asked Felicity, with an eyebrow raised and a wicked smile. She was teasing and Dan knew it.
‘No, that there was way too much money here.’
Felicity nodded.
‘Far too much,’ she agreed. ‘I understand that nuclear submariners are paid more than other sailors of similar rank, quite a lot more in some cases. I had one patient, many years ago when I was training, who was continually getting into fights for flicking pound coins at the “skimmers”,’ she said, making inverted commas with her fingers as she used the slang term for sailors who embarked on ships instead of submarines. ‘But not this much more money, and not with a wife that didn’t work, so far as we can tell, anyway, and who had a personal trainer at the local gym twice a week.’
Dan nodded again. ‘Your guys will be investigating that, though.’
‘We will,’ said Felicity. ‘But, Dan, I can tell you one or two things I’m as certain of as I can be. The man that killed this woman knew her and he hated her, whether he feels he had a reason to specifically hate her, or whether he simply hates all women, I don’t yet know. But, she knew him too and he had been here before, in this house, and he knew the husband. I’m certain of it. The brutality of it, the way he marked her, the sustained nature of the attack—’
‘You’ve mentioned that twice now,’ interrupted Dan. ‘The fact that the attack was sustained.’
Felicity was thinking, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. ‘Yes, it’s very strange. We may never know why for sure, but Cheryl Walker was badly beaten first and then there seems to have been a break in the attack. We believe that the sexual assault, and a number of other injuries including the strangulation that led to her death, happened some time afterwards.’
‘What about interrogation?’ asked Dan. ‘Could they have been trying to get some information from her? That could explain a break in the attack.’
‘Possibly. We really don’t know, but then there’s also the remote location up on the edge of Dartmoor; there are no indications that anyone else drove her car. We’re fairly sure she went there of her own free will, and that leads me to believe that this was someone that Cheryl knew very well and that she trusted; this was a friend, maybe more than a friend.’
‘And she went to meet him on the same night her husband’s submarine returned – a break-up gone bad?’ asked Dan.
‘We’re not sure that an affair was even happening,’ said Felicity. ‘But we’d be fools not to consider it.’
‘These types of relationships usually start within a close circle of friends, though, don’t they?’
Felicity nodded. ‘Yes, usually.’
‘And the majority of their friends are navy, aren’t they?’ asked Dan, knowing the answer.
‘Yes, we think that the vast majority are. And the vast majority of that vast majority, we think, are submariners.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said Dan, looking back at the big picture of the family that looked into the downstairs hallway. ‘But in that case, why aren’t you investigating on board Tenacity yet? He went there to die, that must mean something.’
Felicity seemed to sigh and Dan was unsure what to read from it. ‘The truth is, Dan, we really do believe she may well have been involved with someone in some, as yet undefined, way and that it had to have been going on for several months. An attack like this would seem to have brewed over a period of time, built up and festered over multiple periods of contact with Cheryl, whether that be knowingly on her part or imagined on his. Tenacity has been away, and so at this time, we believe that our efforts are better placed searching for someone who could have been in contact with Cheryl in the months leading up to this attack – the guys on Tenacity have a watertight alibi for that period.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dan. ‘I think there’s more to it than that. Walker was clearly serious about dying, so then why go to Tenacity? It wasn’t a cry for help; if he’d wanted that, he could have taken pills and waited for the police to kick the doors in and rescue him.’
Felicity was watching her closely now, visibly tuned in to everything she was saying.
‘But he risked accessing the naval base and sneaking on board the submarine, exposing himself to several opportunities to be noticed and stopped, to finally do it on board Tenacity; there has to be a reason for that.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ offered Felicity, pursing her lips as she thought it through. ‘But you are right about something else too,’ she said, coming over and standing next to Dan to look at the picture. ‘I don’t believe that this is the first time Cheryl Walker’s attacker has committed a crime like this one, not the first time at all, but we can’t find any other instances to link to this attack.’
The two women were both looking at the family picture as though an answer might appear to them, coming into
focus if they waited and watched for long enough.
Dan was biting her lip. ‘There was a message in this attack, Felicity,’ she said finally, knowing that Felicity was looking at her now. ‘I just don’t see it as an affair gone wrong, I really don’t. I think it was done so that Walker would know who did it and why.’
Felicity was silent and the pair studied the family portrait for a few moments more, before Dan spoke again. ‘I’d really like to speak to some of the people that knew them, to help me get a feel for Cheryl and her relationship with Whisky.’
Felicity looked serious. ‘I wanted you to see the files, Dan. I believe that you might have some great insights into a complicated case and I’m really interested to hear them, and to ensure that you’re listened to. But Branok Cornish is a down-the-line type of detective and he won’t want you crossing any boundaries. Your role as Naval Liaison will be one he can live with, although I think if he finds out that you knew Walker at all, even years ago, he’d try to red-card you—’
‘We’d never investigate anything if you took that approach; the navy isn’t that big.’
‘I know, and I agree,’ said Felicity.
The door opened behind them, and Felicity lowered her voice instinctively as John started to bustle inside.
‘I’m just warning you, one friend to another, how Branok will be. If you start trying to actively pursue his case, he’ll shut you down, no doubt about it. So, for the sake of peace, I’d suggest not speaking to any of them without his permission, which he won’t give.’
Dan nodded, she had suspected as much.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she acknowledged.
Chapter 6
Friday Afternoon – 26th September 2014
Dan moved her bag onto the back seat as John opened the passenger door. She looked at him as he got into the car.
He had lost none of his physique in the years since she had last seen him, looking trim around the middle, his arms still well muscled. He always reminded Dan of a bouncer, or a bodyguard, someone whose job it was to protect.
John Granger was the type of person Dan would normally go to some lengths to avoid. He was loud and had a personality that barely fitted through the main dockyard gate. But working with him on Operation Poacher, tracking down and eventually catching Hamilton, she’d come to really like him and consider him a friend. They’d trained occasionally at lunchtimes, going for runs around the dockyard or Plymouth, or around the streets in London if they were on-site with the Operation Poacher Task Force. They’d often ended up eating together in the evenings when away, even catching an occasional movie and once a show at the theatre, a production that John had barely managed to pretend he enjoyed.
However, when it came down to it, when she had gone to Hamilton’s house almost four years earlier, looking for the proof she needed to convince herself that it was Hamilton who was responsible for several decades of missing girls and grisly murders, she hadn’t trusted John to come with her.
There was more to it than that; wasn’t there always? She hadn’t wanted him to be at risk in the early part of her investigation, particularly as she began to look at the whole team, John included. Then, as the lie grew and she became more embroiled, it began to feel impossible to involve him; too much was at stake. Dan would risk herself and her own career, but not her friend’s; John never saw it that way.
His face, as he saw her being helped from Hamilton’s house, had stayed with her as one of those moments in time in which she could accurately pinpoint having made a big mistake. First, his features were etched with worry, borderline panic, as he looked for her. Then there was relief, verging on bliss, as he’d seen her battered, but safe and alive. Then she’d watched his face change for the final time in their friendship. She was sitting in the back of an ambulance, a medic fussing around her, and he was standing with Roger Blackett, who explained to John what had happened, what Dan had done, what she had done without him.
She stole another look as he slid into the car and then immediately lowered the window on his side, tweaking the air freshener to give off more fragrance.
‘Still hate those that smoke the evil weed, eh?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows and looking out of the partially open window. ‘There’s none so judgemental as a poacher turned.’
‘When can I speak to the ship’s company?’ she asked, ignoring his comment. ‘I’d like to do it as soon as possible.’
He lowered the window further on his own side and rested his elbow against the door frame.
It was cold, but Dan said nothing.
‘She’s been out today. Been day-running, pre-operations tests and training. She’ll be alongside later,’ he said.
‘I thought she’d be made to stay alongside?’
He shook his head. ‘She’s getting ready to sail in a few days and they have to prepare.’
‘I assume if Tenacity’s just out and back in UK waters, then we won’t have to wait for customs or anything? We can just get straight on board?’
‘Submarines don’t ever deal with customs,’ said John. He wasn’t looking at her, wasn’t making eye contact in the way he normally did when he spoke with people. ‘Customs don’t have the security clearance, and getting them dogs down the main access hatch ladder, well, that would be a real trial.’
She knew he would be smiling at his own humour and resisted the urge to join him.
‘So we can get straight on board then?’
He shook his head, still without looking at her; she could feel it.
‘They’ll want to shut down the reactor plant and that’ll take a few hours, but after that we should be able to get on board. Tenacity’s had a rough time lately, a lot of operational running, long periods away from families. I spoke to the Coxswain yesterday – three marriages failed during their last running period; that’s three more wedding bands on the collection line.’
He still wasn’t looking at her, and Dan kept her eyes to the front, watching the road and checking the rear-view mirror at unusually regular intervals.
She wanted to remain silent, but when John didn’t continue she felt compelled to speak. ‘So what are you saying, John? This isn’t the first suicide investigation I’ve managed.’
‘I’m saying that I heard what Doctor Green was saying to you at the end there. I’m saying there’s already a lot of stress on board. I know the Coxswain and he’s been on Tenacity forever, so I know what those boys have already been going through. I’m saying that I’m keen that we keep focused on the suicide. We do our jobs and we do them properly. We’re not directly involved in the murder investigation, that’s for the civvy police, Branok and his team. We’ve just to gather information, see where people were and confirm that they were where they say. We’re in an assisting role, providing information. This won’t be glamorous and we won’t be single-handedly taking down killers this time out.’
He stopped and let his words hang in the cold air.
Dan watched the road with the intensity of a teenage gamer watching their screen. It felt like a cheap shot coming from him and yet she had little ammunition to throw back. She had gone off-brief when hunting Hamilton – she had been in an assisting role then too – but it was never about the recognition, that was unfair. Dan honestly couldn’t have cared less who did or didn’t know what part she’d played. It was about justice. It was about the right people, the victims, having the right priority. She heard what John was saying, and maybe he was right, but it was what he wasn’t saying, what was implied, that was burrowing under her skin like a parasite.
She swallowed and weighed her response. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And we are focused on Walker’s suicide. But that’ll involve interviewing the whole crew and we’re also briefed with ascertaining their whereabouts in the days running up to Walker’s suicide and during …’ She paused, thinking about how she could phrase it, what name she could use that would make her sound objective, as though she wasn’t already more invested with Cheryl Walker than she sh
ould be. ‘Mrs Walker’s death,’ she finished.
She was aware that he nodded, seemingly appeased.
‘But John, if Tenacity’s due to sail in three days, then I—’ She almost kicked herself. ‘We, still need to get on board as soon as possible.’
He had stopped nodding and they finished the journey in silence.
Dan’s mind was clouding as she queued to enter the dockyard gate. She reached up and rubbed her eyes. The long drive and a bad night’s sleep had left her feeling worn out.
‘Where will Tenacity be berthed?’ she asked as they drove towards the squadron building.
‘Eight Wharf South again, but you’ve a few hours before she gets back alongside.’
‘OK, I’ll drop you off. I’m going back to the Wardroom to get some sleep.’
‘If in doubt, rack out,’ he said, turning to look out of the window.
Dan could tell he was trying hard to suppress his loud and jokey manner as he turned back to face the front.
‘You look tired,’ he said quietly.
She picked up on a tiny hint of his long dissolved Irish accent.
‘I am,’ she said, after a moment.
She stopped the car at the bottom of the parade ground and waited for him to get out.
‘I’ll call you before she gets in?’ he said, and then walked away.
Sleep felt like such a good idea, but Dan knew that her head was going to have none of it, as ideas and thoughts, memories and feelings, churned around and mixed together, blurring like running colours in the wash. She parked up behind the Wardroom and stretched as she stepped out of the car.
The leaves from the surrounding trees seemed to be falling at an alarming rate. The ground around her was carpeted in them and, after mixing with the rain, they had created a soft layer of mulch that made navigating the inclined pathway to the entrance quite deadly.
‘For God’s sake,’ said Dan out loud, as she slipped on a patch of damp leaves for the third time. She stopped and thought about it for a second, decided against continuing. She knew where she was going to go.
Reverend Brian Markton was sitting and reading quietly in a small anteroom at the back of the dockyard church.
